Nothing
by Pharaoh-chan
Summary: The Once-ler started out as a nothing, his empire was built on nothing, and he ended up as a nothing. A reflection on his rise to fame and his regret.


How much time had passed?

He didn't know anymore. He didn't care to know. What was the concept of time to him? A useless measurement now. He had no place to go, no appointments to be at, no dates to go on, no promises to fulfill.

Time was dead to him, along with every Truffula tree that once stood tall and proud in the valley. And appropriately, he too had become dead. He was dead to everyone who had once known him or claimed to have known him. Dead to his family. Dead to people he had once thought were his friends.

And clearly, dead to the Lorax, who had been the only one to stay with him until the end. And even then, there was nothing left to be said, to be done. He had squandered his achievements, stomped on the hearts of those who had believed in him from the start. Everything had been riding on his dreams, everything.

Now it was all gone. He had pushed everyone in the way of his dreams aside, and he had been left a broken man, with no friends, and no dreams at all. Everything had imploded back onto him. For every moment of success he had once had, he felt the agony, the anger, the despair, the utter hopelessness. Everything he'd ever crushed to attain his desires came back to haunt him. Every face, every creature, and every living thing he had murdered senselessly, it came rushing to him at every single angle, and he could find no reprieve from any of it.

His factory that he had taken such pride in was now the bane of his very existence, a testament all the evils he'd unleashed from his very hands. His beloved product that had gained him so much was now so very worthless in his eyes. In the beginning, all he had wanted to do was help people, to give them something they needed.

And he too hoped that one day, he would be needed -by somebody, anybody. He wanted so badly to make his mark in the world, to give love and to be loved, something he had never had growing up in his household.

That love had come to him quickly; the acceptance and adoration from crowds had filled his loneliness.

But the love had not been love. It had only been a disguise for something corrupted and hideous. He had allowed it fill him and take hold of his being. Love is many things- but power, greed, control, and envy- it was not any of those things that came along with his rise to fame. But how could he have known this, when it had felt so good at the time?

He became hungry for more, and it took the shape of more factories, more thneeds, more money, more adoration, more fans, always more. It took the form of the smog in the sky, the schlop in the streams, and it filled his insides like poison, leeching onto every part of him, infecting him from the inside out, and he became bent to the will of something far greater than he could have understood or comprehended.

The world had become a dark and twisted place then. It was all a game of monopoly. Worth in the world was judged by monetary and status. Whoever had the most playing pieces by the end would be the most important, have the most success.

Perhaps it wasn't love anymore, tainted by lies told to him by his family, his lawyers, even himself. But it was the closest thing he would ever have to it.

So the biggering didn't stop. The monster he created continued to harvest the earth, destroy everything that wasn't a part of his empire. People didn't seem to mind, nor care. If he didn't do it, someone else would.

They became content with his choices. He didn't care whether they were or not. It was his chance now, his turn to be important.

But even then, he was dropped from his height abruptly, left to fall alone until he landed on the dead, cold ground. He had never realized what it cost him, the price of fame and fortune. He had sold his soul to the monster he'd made. Iron claws tore through ground, uprooted hundreds. Sharp teeth filed to points had sliced through trunks, cracking them in half like mere toothpicks. Hot ash sprayed into the air, plumes of smoke continuously rising to blot out the sky above, one of which had not been seen in years.

And then there was the heavy gaze of the Lorax, the creature who had never let him forget who he had once been, a naïve boy who had nothing to lose because he _had_ nothing to begin with. As he looked into those eyes, he could see reflected in them the countless souls he had tortured, the lives he had ruined. He could see himself, younger, lighter, keeping every promise he ever made. He could see what life could have been.

It made him squirm. It made him angry, confused. It made him feel alone all over again. Had he not built this life for himself because he deserved it? After a life of being nothing, didn't he _deserve_ to be something?

And yet, even with this reasoning, he knew what he had sacrificed. The only question that lingered now was…had it been worth it?

As he was left to gaze out at the valley, all signs of life gone, could he rest as a man who had done right? Could he continue to be so proud despite all that he had wrought?

There was nothing left to be proud of. Not all the wealth or publicity in the world could have saved him from the guilt he felt. The faux love had finally showed itself to him with a sickening grin, the schlop dripping from it. Even something as pure as one simple desire had taken a form so twisted. In the end, no one had loved him. No one had truly accepted him. Only when he had something to offer, only when he showed signs of promise.

He had thrown his dreams away for people who never cared about him to begin with.

And as he stared at the Lorax, their soft, sad gazes locked, he realized that he had wounded the closest thing he had ever had to a real friend.

The Lorax simply shakes his head, the realization having come far too late. He looks disappointed, utterly drained and discouraged. From this selfish act, he was convinced that there was nothing left he could teach, as mankind was not willing to learn, not even the boy he had so much faith in at the beginning, with something as purely simple as a promise.

The Once-ler watched him rise into the air, the heavens above the smog opening as light for the first time in years, poured through the foul clouds. He had felt his heart pounding, his tired eyes watering as he reached out to him. He opened his mouth to speak, but there was nothing he could say to change it. He watched as the guardian rose into the light, leaving him utterly alone with nothing but himself and his monster.

His gaze set up on the sky for a long time, wishing he'd come back, that anyone would. But they had no reason to come. He was nothing again. Right back where he started.

Except now, he had spread his nothing everywhere. It was a wasteland.

The wind whipped his body harshly, the gears of his factory continuing to turn, churning out the last few tufts he had, and he felt cold, frozen inside. He felt his knees buckle to the dirt, and he was in the muck, his gloved hands pressing into the deadened earth, and he began to sob. Tears fell from him as his body jerked every so often; choked with cries for the immense despair he felt, the shame, the illusion of it all. He had destroyed everything, even himself. He had nothing left to live for. He had no right to live.

He stumbled to his feet as he continued to wheeze, dragging himself past a ring of stones that littered his yard. They were arranged simply and neatly, and the largest one bore one word engraved onto it, and just one. **UNLESS.**

He stared at the word for a while, tears dripping down his cheeks as he studied it carefully, shaking fingers reaching to outline each letter. He felt himself tremble at the utter remorse he felt as he gazed towards the heavens again, as if the Lorax might come back to tell him what it meant, how he could make things better again.

But the Lorax did not come back.

The word began to haunt him, its' purpose unclear, its' meaning useless. His head throbbed, his hands shook, his pace was nervous and he stumbled. What did it mean, **UNLESS** what? He needed to know, he had to know.

He couldn't think though. He let out a twisted scream, his darkened eyes turned toward the menace in question- the vile creature he had birthed. He couldn't take it anymore.

The word began to echo, scream inside of him as he took the axe to his office first, slamming it into any surface he could. He dragged the blade up the hallways, tearing through anything and everything he came across. Finally he had reached it, the mechanical monster, and he sent the blade flying through controls and conveyors. The monster gave a scream at the damage he began to wreak, and he sought to end its' life right then and there.

He dumped everything into it, the oil, gasoline, the last batch of thneeds, even the sclop, anything that would be flammable enough. He struck the match, his eyes distant, his choice resolute as he let it fall to the floor below, and almost immediately the fire consumed everything, climbing the walls of his factory, scorching through all the materials, hungrily devouring anything in its' path. He watched it for a while, the heat feeling nice against his coldness. The ember glow danced across his face, his thin frame, and he was almost tempted to jump in with it- to become one with his monster as it died, to pay for everything he had done.

But that **UNLESS**.

The Lorax had left it for him, for a reason. He burst from the factory, staggering to the ring of stones, and he cried out to the guardian. Surely he would come back now that he had seen what he had done.

But he did not.

And would not.

As the factory churned out dark smoke that rose to the skies, even as it collapsed in on itself, the Once-ler sat in front of the rock, feeling hollow, his expression glazed over, his fate sealed. He was bound to this single word for however long he would be alive.

It was all he had left now.


End file.
